


Christmas With Crowley: Relapse

by thegreatficmaster



Series: Christmas With Crowley [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Depressed Crowley (Supernatural), Grief, Hopeful Ending, Loss, M/M, Reader-Insert, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 13:30:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20310301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatficmaster/pseuds/thegreatficmaster
Summary: Crowley can’t help himself and relies on the blood once again. But he realizes, he isn’t alone.





	Christmas With Crowley: Relapse

** _22nd December 2016_ **

Amara was gone. 

Chuck was God, but he decided to leave. 

Lucifer was somewhere, plotting god knows what. 

But the worst thing in Crowley’s mind? 

Mary Winchester was back.

He had no idea why she was given back.

The damn woman was dumb enough to make a deal and died. 

She deserved her death.

But y/n didn’t.

He didn’t understand why the damn Winchesters, who had almost destroyed the world multiple times, got their mother back.

While y/n was still dead, and Crowley was left alone.

They had their happy life, while he sat on his throne, still hating himself for ever introducing y/n to this world.

Working with the Winchesters messed him up even more. 

Seeing them, Amara, and his mother, he just realized he wished them all dead. 

None of them deserved to live. 

Especially not the Winchesters.

They didn’t deserve that woman back. 

She had no right to be alive.

But for some reason, Amara’s strange, slightly gross and uncomfortable ‘bond’ with Dean, meant they got her back.

Of course, Crowley was even more of a mess now, knowing that y/n might be able to be brought back, but Amara was choosing not to. 

He felt useless. 

He’d always been able to bring people back from the dead.

But the one time it mattered the most, he was unable to do anything.

Seeing the Winchesters, having to work with them, it brought everything back.

The happy memories. 

The almost two years he was truly happy.

The months that had passed since his life had practically ended, not wanting to go on without y/n.

The addiction came back, drinking a few drops at first, before he began draining the victims. 

He was almost like a vampire, sucking their blood out, finding actually drinking it seemed to do a better job than injecting a small amount.

So he watched them, wishing he could kill them, get some sort of revenge. 

But he knew they’d find a way back. 

They always did.

Sat around the table, Crowley saw the three Winchesters and Cas talking, eating pie and joking around, catching Mary up with over three decades of their lives that she’d missed.

A family gathered around the table, having dinner, and enjoying each other’s company.

He never had one of those.

Not until y/n. 

And now he was gone.

He snapped his fingers, taking himself back home. 

Well-not home. 

He’d long since realized y/n was his home. 

Now he was gone, he had an abandoned building to live in, the memories being the only thing that kept him there.

Crowley stumbled to the throne room, decorated as he had it the last time y/n was around on Christmas, wanting to remember him, remember the happiness and joy he had.

He made his way to the cabinet, not seeing the figure sat in the chair behind him.

Crowley swallowed down a goblet of blood, allowing the human emotions to arrive, wanting to mourn y/n, more often than not doing this in his bed, sobbing and blaming himself.

As the metallic substance slid down his throat, he felt the burn of pain, the regret, and loss wash over him.

This was what he needed. 

The hatred for himself, letting it out through the tears that stained his pillow every night. 

This was his release.

It didn’t take long, Crowley clutching onto the cabinet in front of him, his tears never stopping as ugly sobs left his mouth, the grief being too much.

The demon jumped when a pair of hands wrapped around his waist from behind, turning to see Chelsea stood behind him, her face wet, eyes puffy.

He wasted no time pulling her in, holding onto the last thing that connected him to the love of his life.

Chelsea was the one thing that kept him from ending it all. 

He’d become good friends with her. And now, she always made sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid.

He hated her for it. 

But knew that even if he did leave the world, there was no way he’d be able to get to y/n.

Chelsea knew how much y/n loved this man, so she made herself promise that she wouldn’t let him lose sight of it all.

Even when he begged her, sobbing that he wanted to join y/n, she refused to let him.

She’d show up every few weeks, just making sure he was ok. 

But now, she knew he was further in his pit of self-hate than she’d thought.

She pulled her head back, looking into Crowley’s bloodshot eyes, knowing she had to get through to him.

“Crowley, you need to stop this. He wouldn’t want this. Not the blood. Not again”.

Crowley shook his head, refusing to listen to her, and pulled away.

“I did this to him. It’s all my fault. N-now I need to feel it. All of it. And the blood is the only way”.

She sighed, knowing she’d have to do something to make him listen.

Walking over to the cabinet, she grabbed the few decanters holding the blood, and threw them into the fire, the glass smashing, the red fluid drenching the wood.

“NO!”

Crowley ran to the fireplace and sunk to his knees.

“I-I needed that. I need it to remember him”, he whispered, his voice broken and tired.

She said nothing, kneeling behind him and hugging him, holding him tight in her arms.

“We’ll get through it, Crowley. That’s what he’d want. So we’ll do it. For him”.

Crowley nodded, hoping he could make it past this.

Hoping he’d make y/n proud.


End file.
